


A Masterful Friend

by thealphagate_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M, challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-15
Updated: 2006-03-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 00:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12716238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphagate_archivist/pseuds/thealphagate_archivist
Summary: Friday Night Fic Challenge #2; SGC Charity Auction Lot 13: Dr. Daniel Jackson, archaeologist, linquist, babe.





	A Masterful Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the archivists: this story was originally archived at [The Alpha Gate](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Alpha_Gate), a Stargate SG-1 archive, which began migration to the AO3 in 2017 when its hosting software, eFiction, was no longer receiving support. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are this creator and it hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Alpha Gate collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/thealphagate).

  
Author's notes: None.  


* * *

"It's just a bit of harmless fun, Daniel. And it's for such a good cause." 

Sam knew exactly how to get me to agree to take part in the SGC Charity Slave Auction. She thought her plan through carefully beforehand, picked her moment to implement it, and executed it with flawless military precision. She caught me in the middle of a particularly tricky translation, knowing that I'd probably agree to anything as long as she left quickly and let me get back to it. Then she hit me with the guilt trip about raising money for disadvantaged children, and I was a goner before she even got to the secret weapon of chocolate walnut cookies. 

So, here I am, standing at the top of the ramp in the gate room, looking out over a huge crowd of SGC personnel. Who even knew so many people worked here? The entire room is packed to capacity, with more bodies pressed up against the glass of the control room above me. I feel like a specimen in some bizarre experiment, dozens of pairs of eyes examining me for flaws and imperfections. Even Sam's presence at my side isn't providing any comfort. She's been auctioning men off left, right and centre for over an hour now, and she's enjoying it way too much for my liking. 

Poor Lieutenant Simmons got snapped up right away by a rather formidable female marine from SG-5. I can just about make him out, backed up into the far corner of the room. He looks like a scared rabbit, his eyes darting about in search of any means of escape, but his new `owner' is keeping very careful tabs on him. There's no way he'll be able to slip away from the clutches of a watchful marine. 

Then there was the guy from accounts who was reduced to begging, "Somebody buy me. Please?" I mean, what could possibly be worse than taking part in a slave auction and having nobody bid for you? 

Major Davis faired somewhat better. He actually looked quite pleased when the bidding for him finally ended with a victory for young Sergeant Kingston. Paul positively beamed at her when she came up to claim possession. They both disappeared shortly afterwards and I haven't seen either of them since. 

And now it's my turn. 

Sam raps her gavel on the podium in front of her, rather unnecessarily, seeing as the room went completely silent the moment I stepped onto the ramp. 

Grinning down at her rapt audience, Sam announces, "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you lot 13: Dr Daniel Jackson - linguist, archaeologist." 

"Babe!" A female voice calls out from somewhere near the back. There's immediate laughter from Ferreti and his team and, more worryingly, murmurs of agreement from the direction of Janet's nurses. I feel my heart lurch in my chest and my palms begin to sweat. What have I got myself into? 

"Who'll start the bidding?" Sam asks. 

And they're off. The bids come flying in thick and fast from all over the room, punctuated every now and then by a contribution from the gallery via the PA system. It's so frenzied that I quickly lose track of who's trying to buy me as the shouted offers increase step by step. 

They're up to $900 already? I suppose I should be flattered that someone thinks I'm worth that amount of money, but I'm too busy being nervous and embarrassed to acknowledge the compliment. 

Suddenly, an authoritative tone cuts through the bickering. "Fifteen hundred!" Everybody turns to find the source of this outrageous bid. It's Jack. I breathe a sigh of relief and instantly relax. I'm safe. Nobody's going to top that. Jack was sensible enough to avoid volunteering to be sold, and this must be his way of contributing. Thank god for Jack - my saviour. He obviously saw my discomfort and decided to rescue me. 

The stunned silence hangs in the air for a long moment. Then Sam remembers her role and prompts, "Going once? Going twice?" There's no response, so she brings her gavel down with relish and cries, "Sold for fifteen hundred dollars to Colonel O'Neill. Come up and claim your slave, sir!" 

There are muttered curses from some of the other bidders, and one of the cafeteria staff actually starts to cry as Jack swaggers through the crowd towards me, a huge grin on his face. Eager to escape the mob of thwarted women, I practically run down the ramp to meet him. 

Once we've made it out into the corridor, I slump against the wall and close my eyes. That was way too close. 

"Thanks, Jack," I murmur in a heartfelt tone. "I really appreciate you rescuing me back there." 

"Rescuing?" Something in his voice causes my eyes to snap back open and I meet his twinkling gaze with renewed fear. "Who said anything about rescuing?" he asks, wiggling his eyebrows at me suggestively. "Your ass is mine, Jackson!" 

Uh-oh.


End file.
